


Little Getaway

by tealReginleif



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: The Sacred Stones
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-11
Updated: 2021-02-11
Packaged: 2021-03-18 07:53:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29365044
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tealReginleif/pseuds/tealReginleif
Summary: Ephraim and Lyon go to a faraway lakeside field and practice archery.
Relationships: Ephraim/Lyon (Fire Emblem)
Comments: 3
Kudos: 12





	Little Getaway

The skies of eastern Grado were, around that time of year, very gray. Brisk wind blew past the mountain range and made ripples on the lake. In the middle of an open rocky field, two bodies made of straw stood firmly on stakes planted to the ground. Prince Ephraim knelt down, methodically setting up the third.

By his side, handing him another bundle of straw and twine, Prince Lyon confessed, “I’m still not entirely sure about this.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Lyon. You’ll do just fine! The bow is a much different beast than the lance.”

“That may be the case, but I’m still finding it hard to be confident. Even after securing every tactical advantage, Eirika bested me once again…”

“Truth be told, I never expected you to win out over my sister.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t feel bad about it, though. Despite her apprehensions, she’s an excellent fighter. It just means the lance isn’t for you, and that’s okay.”

“Hm…”

“Seriously, pay it no more mind. You’ll feel a lot better after you’ve hit a couple of shots. You’ll see.”

“Alright. I’m putting all my trust on you, teacher.” Having set up their targets, the princes walked back to the wagon. 

It occurred to Ephraim, as the wind breezed on their backs, that he was not entirely sure how far away they were from Grado Keep. Judging by the ride, he knew they were about five hours on a wagon eastward. But he hadn’t been the one with the map, and the routes Lyon had taken were hard to keep track. Ephraim had been content to not bother Lyon in his navigation. Lyon was capable of memorizing every route and traversal, in both Grado and Renais. 

Lyon looked to the side, facing the lake as they walked. That calming sight seemed to call to him, beckoning to sit by and watch the clouds reflecting on the surface. But he was quick to turn away, for he would not take his eyes off Ephraim for long. It captivated him, how Ephraim’s energetic and stalwart personality juxtaposed against the lake’s serenity. Lyon had never before been this far away from home while not under the watch of mages or knights—this, Lyon believed, made Ephraim’s presence all the more palpable. He was fire, and as it was just the two of them out here, it seemed to Lyon that he burned just as bright no matter where he went.

Once there, Ephriam reached inside the wagon and retrieved a finely crafted iron bow and a quiver of arrows. It was clear, humorously so, how the mere sight of the weapon filled Lyon with hesitation.

“Are you ready to go, friend?”

“Y-yes!” Lyon said, as he latched the leather quiver around his waist. “Ah…”

“What is it?”

“Well, now that I’m holding it, the bow feels much larger and heavier than I had imagined.”

It seemed that way to Ephraim, too. The damn thing towered over Lyon, and it looked like at any point, the weight of it would be too much for him to handle. But Lyon was fine, and after a few seconds he was holding it confidently by his side. He started to walk toward the straw figures, but his momentum was halted immediately when he noticed Ephraim wasn’t following.

“Uhm. Ephraim? Are we not going to get closer to the targets?”

“What do you mean?” he replied. “We’re close enough from here.”

“Oh, no,” Lyon murmured.

“Look at you, all ready to go! I have a good feeling about this one, Lyon.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Now, you’re going to try to hit the one on the very left first, okay?”

“That sounds good… Are you sure we shouldn’t start out just a bit closer?”

“I’m positive! Come on, show me your aim.”

Lyon brought an arrow up to the string and drew it back, emulating the Grado army snipers as best as he could. 

“Good. Keep your arm firm and straight, but don’t lock it in place.”

“Okay.”

“Lift your elbows up so that your arms are level.”

“O-okay.”

“And… try to stand with your feet closer together?”

“...Like so?”

“...Yes. Okay. Let go whenever you think you’re ready.”

Lyon took a couple of slow breaths, aligned his eye to the tip of the arrow, aimed straight to the first target, and released. The arrow whistled as it flew across the expanse, finally dropping and sliding on the ground just next to the stack of hay.

Lyon knew better than to be discouraged by a first miss. What slighted him, though, was the way the arrow seemed to waver side to side in the air, as if its archer had forgotten to tell it where to go. He wondered if Ephraim had seen that as well.

“Why don’t you give it another go?”

And so he did. Once, twice, then ten more times, each attempt with a new pointer from Ephraim, who insisted that he ought to fix his wrist, or point his feet a certain way, or stretch his back more, or stretch his back less. Lyon frowned at the first sensations of his arms tiring out. He was about to reach for another arrow when he felt Ephraim’s hand on his shoulder.

“Wait, wait.” Ephraim smiled, and said “I’m starting to realize that I’m a terrible teacher. Why don’t I demonstrate first?”

“That sounds like a good idea,” Lyon said. He handed him the bow, and, in his nervousness, was about to unlatch the leather quiver as well, before he realized that Ephraim could just take the arrows from there.

“Let’s see here…” He definitely felt a little rusty—it had been a while since Ephraim had practiced archery. He tossed the bow around, getting a feel for it, and when he was set he took an arrow from Lyon’s waist and drew back, aimed, and…

He missed. “Rats,” he cursed to himself. “Hah. I should’ve thought about the fact that I’ve never shot a bow in a place as windy as this.”

“Oh!” Lyon exclaimed, and felt a little bit vindicated. “That makes a lot of sense. Maybe we should go someplace else?”

“No, no. We’re already here, and I doubt we’ll have any luck finding a place where the wind is not this strong now. Now…”

He took aim again, this time taking the wind into account. He felt Lyon’s curious, intent gaze on him as he fired. He smiled, pleased, and waited for Lyon’s impressed reaction as the arrow pierced right through the middle of the target. He tried a third, fourth, and fifth time, each time hitting the mark.

There were stars in Lyon’s eyes. He visualized in his mind every angle in which he could watch Ephraim’s draw, the sheer physical strength displayed in his technique, the self-satisfied smile that followed each shot. He was radiant, Lyon thought, and every moment he spent near him was one in which his soul was set aflame. His love and his envy, he felt them like a sickness in his chest.

“Just… uh… do what I just did.”

“Ha ha ha, alright? I suppose I can try!” The prince of Grado’s laugh was just like him, gentle and light. 

Lyon’s thoughts as he took the bow back were of his proficiency in dark magic. He thought of the countless volumes of tomes he had been making his way through, learning spells from the royal mages. He wondered sometimes if his role as Ephraim’s occasional tutor had played a hand at cultivating this ability. He wanted to think so; it made him feel closer to him in a way. If anything, he didn’t want all those hours of trying to get him to sit down and read to be a total waste.

“A question,” Lyon said. “When did you find the purpose to get skilled at archery? I would think your time focused solely on your spear.”

“And it is. It’s just that some time ago, on a trip to Castle Frelia… Well, let’s just say Prince Innes has a talent for archery, and a particularly competitive bent.”

“Oh, that’s so exciting! Please tell me, how did that go?”

“Okay, okay. That’s enough stalling.” Ephraim nudged his shoulder, waving the question away. “It’s your turn, my friend.”

“Right!” Lyon reached for another arrow, of which there were fifteen left in the quiver. He pulled the string back, feeling the tightness of it tense up in his chest. He took a moment, steadied his breath, and let the arrow fly straight into the target, landing with a satisfying rustle.

“Ephraim!” he yelped, flinching from the surprise. It just so happened that in that instant, his hand was, out of habit, already in the middle of retrieving another arrow, and in the startled motion his fingers got caught up in the quiver band, causing it to become undone, the rest of the arrows dropping disorderly to the ground. 

The delight of having hit his first target, the embarrassment from the blunder with the quiver, and the fact that these things had caused Ephraim to start laughing aloud, filled Lyon’s chest with a different kind of tension. “Whoops!” he stammered out, immediately dropping to the floor to pick the arrows up. 

“Don’t worry about it.” Ephraim laughed, and knelt down to help him. He really was not one to laugh that much. The things that amused him most usually made him do nothing more than a battle-hungry smirk. Lyon thought that this was a big shame; his laughter was so pleasant and charming to listen to, something about the way it sounded like he kept trying to subdue it. “Excellent shot!”

“Ah... thank you, Ephraim,” Lyon uttered, and as he did he smiled up at him. He was absolutely beaming, a smile so sweet, humble, and genuine that Ephraim felt a chord play within himself. His long purple hair looked like magic, blowing back in the wind. Ephraim thought, involuntarily and without warning, that Lyon was beautiful. 

It was because he was occupied with this thought that, while reaching for a particular arrow, Ephraim did not notice that Lyon was already going for it.

Neither Ephraim nor Lyon were particularly touchy people. To their memory, they had not so much as shaken hands before. Lyon, in his withdrawn demeanor, rarely ever went out without the cover of his oversized purple cloak. And Ephraim, he was simply unconcerned with such things. He was, in his mind, first and foremost a fighter, and it was the default position for his calloused hands to be wrapped around a spear. So when Ephraim accidentally cupped the back of Lyon’s hand, the two were so arrested by the touch that all they could do was draw away and move on with the pretense that it had never happened, that it was no big deal. A seed had been planted, and as they stood up to fire at the targets again, the same thought grew in their minds:  _ how is it possible for another person to feel so warm? _

“I think I’m starting to get the hang of it!” Lyon said, latching the quiver back on.

“I think you’re starting to like it, too!”

Lyon let out a small laugh. It was true, he thought. He’s definitely having a good time. Steadying his breath, he took aim again and hit the middle target. The consistency that this second hit indicated made him feel even prouder than the first. 

“Ha!” 

“Excellent job, Lyon!”

His shoulders and back were beginning to ache, but that did nothing to discourage him. “Imagine what Father MacGregor would say if he saw me now!”

Ephraim didn’t riff back, and Lyon sensed that his reaction was less light hearted than he expected. 

“Ephraim.”

“What is it?”

“I know I have a ways to go, but... How I wish I possessed your strength.” Solemnly, he looked out to the lake and said, “Perhaps my future as emperor would be less bleak.”

“That’s—”

“I know what you’re going to say. That my character already makes me fit to be emperor. But I simply don’t think that’s true. I don’t have the bravery or steadfast personality that I need to–” He sighs. “To do good by Grado’s people. That world feels completely outside my reach.”

“Then you are not reaching far enough. You underestimate yourself, my friend, and you underestimate what you already have. You don’t know that you’ve already found a way to do what you want. Your compassion is all the strength you need, and it’s the reason why I can guarantee that you will be a great emperor.”

Lyon listened, taking in what his friend was telling him. He smiled as he continued firing, until there were no arrows left. “I think Father MacGregor is wrong about you.”

“Hm.”

“Is something wrong?”

“No, it’s just… I’m just thinking about it now.” He stepped out for a moment, seemingly to retrieve more arrows from the wagon.

“Sure, you’re rough around the edges, but I am confident that when the time comes for you to take the throne—”

He had not gone for arrows. Lyon paused when he turned and saw that he was holding a javelin, and he was already taking aim. With a grunt and a decisive step, Ephraim hurled the lance straight forward. Unwavering, faster than any arrow, it struck the rightmost target right in the center, utterly demolishing it.

“I have something to tell you, Lyon.”

The atmosphere had changed. To Lyon, it looked like the sky had darkened slightly. “What is it?”

“I’ve thought about this a lot. I’m planning on running away to Jehanna and becoming a mercenary.”

“...What?”

“I wanted you to be the first one to know.”

“You are serious about this…”

“Of course I am. Damn it…” At this point, Ephraim braced himself for a lecture. Sometimes it seemed like that was all he ever heard in his life, just people lecturing him. That he was too blunt with people, or that he neglected his studies too much, or that he was not fit to be king… And so, when picturing in his mind the moment in which he broke the news to Lyon, he had always expected a lecture to follow. But he turned to him now, and immediately he realized that he should’ve known better, for once again he saw those same kind eyes looking up at him.

Lyon was speechless. Ephraim continued, “It should be clear to you, too, that I’m just simply not cut out for any of this stuff. I’m not like my sister, and I’m not like you. And you know I appreciate all the help you’ve given me, but like you’ve said, you can’t be there reading out history books for me forever.”

Lyon, for a second, thought to say,  _ I was wrong. Why not? Why can’t I? _

“Jehanna is a dangerous place! What if you’re caught off guard and get hurt?”

“I have my wits about me, and I wouldn’t be so foolish as to pick a fight with someone I have no hope of defeating. But that’s not the point—”

“What about Eirika?”

“Eirika is meant to take the throne, not me. She’s wise and strong in her own right. She will do right by Renais and her people.”

“But who will do right by her? You have a family, Ephraim, and a people that need you and depend on you.”

“And I will be right there for them, in a heartbeat! I will fight for them, and protect those I care about, in the way I best know how. But it just goes back to the fact that I can’t do that as king as well as I could as a fighter. All the history and diplomacy… To be a fighter is really all that seems like I was meant to do.”

“Ephraim… I’m sorry. I would hate to see you go. It would break my heart to say goodbye to you for so long, not knowing whether you’re okay or if you’ll get hurt.”

“Lyon…” Ephraim grabbed on to Lyon’s arms, gently, firmly holding him at arm’s length. “Nothing could leave so much as a scratch on me out there as long as I had you and Eirika to come back home to.”

With tears forming in his eyes, Lyon said, “I understand. Your reasoning is sound. If it really is the one for you, then you must follow this path. And I can’t justify further attempts to persuade you; you have my full support.”

“Lyon…”

Lyon looked up to meet Ephraim’s gaze. Despite what he said, his eyes betrayed a powerful impulse to beg him to stay. He said, “I just hope to still be able to see you, now and then.”

“H-hey!” Ephraim said, with a slight shake of his arms, as if in an attempt to shake the sadness off of him. “Have no doubt about it, my friend. Out there, I will land on my feet in no time, I will always be around, and I will have all the opportunity to see you even more frequently.”

His voice slightly cracked as he smiled and said, “Is that so?”

“Absolutely.” The wind seemed to lower in intensity. Ephraim took a step forward and embraced him tight.

As Lyon wrapped his arms around him, the unease he had felt at Ephraim’s declaration melted away. He thought to himself,  _ why did it feel for a moment like I was mourning him? _ Yes, what Ephraim confessed was, at least to him, absolutely brash and alarming, and any person would have a strong reaction to hearing the Prince of Renais say such a thing. But for Lyon, there was something else. It was the idea that in the future, Lyon would become Emperor without him as King. Yes, Lyon would be ecstatic and supportive for Eirika to become Queen. But for Ephraim, it was different. For Ephraim, there was something else. There was something else…

The first splatters of rain come abruptly, interrupting their embrace. Then all at once, it began to pour down everywhere.

“Get to the wagon!” Ephraim urged, loudly, as to be heard over the deafening sounds of wind and rain. “I’ll be right back!”

“Where are you going?!”

“I’m going to get the javelin, I don’t want it to rust over!”

With that, Lyon shuffled on under the roof of the wagon. The early traces of mud stuck to the soles of his boots. He rubbed his arms to quell the shivers from the cold, and watched as Ephraim ran the long distance between, picked up the lance, and rushed back, so fast that it seemed like he could slip and fall at any moment. He arrived, climbed into the wagon, and tossed the javelin to the side. 

“Okay, I’m back,” he said between breaths. He had to clear his throat; it was clear he was not used to the cold air in his lungs. “That’s just our luck, isn’t it. We’ll just have to wait it out.”

“Ha ha!”

“What?” Ephraim asked, as he sat down next to Lyon, their legs hanging out from the back of the wagon, facing the lake.

“No, it’s nothing.”

Ephraim frowned, and then took a close look at Lyon’s face, and realized what it was that he was smiling about. It was cute, how Lyon’s long hair dripped wet to his sides, and he imagined that his own must be completely soaked. He shook his head, trying to ruffle off the water as much as he could, some inadvertently splashing on Lyon’s face. This only made him smile more. Ephraim’s teal hair swooped and split in wet streaks and Lyon just could not help himself.

There was nothing too particular about what happened afterward. Until the rain subsided, the Princes would sit there and look out at the heavy pouring rain, watching the ground turn to mud. It dawned on them that this would mark the end of their little getaway. But before they made their way back to Grado Keep, they sat there for hours, watching the rain falling down, splashing on the big blue lake. 

“Wow,” Lyon whispered.

“Wow,” Ephraim whispered back, for this scene was a serenity that, even if they did not know it, they had both been looking for.

The Prince of Grado, shivering a little from the cold, leaned over to Ephraim’s side, and in the most gentle manner brought his lips up to his, and the fiery boy kissed back, and the rain did not subside until the night.


End file.
